I met 21-year-old Rohan (name changed) at my younger son’s rock school the other day. He had recently completed college and stepped straight into the burgeoning gig economy — juggling content-writing assignments and performing at hotels, corporate events, and college festivals with his bandmates. He explained how young musicians today release albums on Spotify and, if a song “blows up,” they can become overnight sensations.A little later, my son’s guitar teacher approached me, asking for my Instagram handle. Since my younger one isn’t on Instagram, he wanted his parents’ accounts for tagging his performance at the upcoming ensemble. As neither my husband nor I are on the platform, I ended up giving him my sister’s handle — the same one the school has used over the past eight ensembles that my now 15-year-old son has taken part in.AdvertisementMy husband and I quit Facebook back in 2014, when both the boys were still under 10. Since then, our social-media presence has largely been limited to LinkedIn and WhatsApp. As self-employed professionals, we use LinkedIn mainly to keep track of what’s happening in our fields. Over these 11 years, our sons have grown up to be their own people — perhaps quite different from their peers. The older one loves growing vegetables organically, frequents gaushalas and national parks, volunteers at animal-rescue centres, and cares for indie dogs on his university campus. The younger one is more of a city boy — obsessed with football and deeply into music (he plays the guitar, drums and composes music).They are digital natives, of course — they follow a few YouTubers and sometimes play games on their mobile phones. Like their peers, they are savvy with Gen Z lingo, memes and trends. But they have never opened Instagram, Snapchat, or Facebook accounts. The younger one faced some peer pressure three years ago. Today, he doesn’t feel the need to be there because he occasionally gets a glimpse of what his peer group is doing through his friends’ Instagram accounts.Interestingly, both have struggled with their peer groups. They complain that many classmates don’t wake up on time, follow influencers like Andrew Tate, speak disparagingly about girls, and watch content that unsettles them. Each of them manages these social dynamics in his own way — one more diplomatic, the other more direct.AdvertisementLast year, a friend suggested that my sons should at least be on LinkedIn. The younger one could share videos of his musical performances. But he says he is not interested in “flexing.”The older one could document his internships, research, and volunteer work — useful for jobs, and eventually for postgraduate applications. I agreed. Because I follow some of his professors and the university on LinkedIn, I sometimes get to see how his classmates are polishing their profiles, posting about campus events and volunteer activities. When I once showed him a classmate’s enthusiastic post, he shrugged and said, “Ma, volunteering is a fancy word. He was just ferrying boxes from one room to another at the event.”Meanwhile, the older one’s best friend is in town for winter break, and he seems to know far more about what’s going on in Delhi than we do, thanks to Instagram. After talking to him and Rohan, I realised just how much social media exposes young people to worlds we barely understand. It is an entire ecosystem we’ve remained outside of.This made me wonder: Have I been fair to my sons? Perhaps they never felt the pull because their parents weren’t scrolling endlessly or posting stories. Maybe if they’d seen us on these platforms, they would have grown curious and opened accounts as teenagers. They’re awkward with selfies, and I often catch them exchanging looks of quiet disdain at people filming reels in public.After staying away from social media for over a decade, I had, of late, begun nudging the older one to open a LinkedIn account. No one looks at CVs these days, I was told. But he showed no interest. “Fine, I’ll do it if you really want me to,” he said. That should have sounded like music to my ears, but it didn’t.most read“No,” I replied. “Don’t open it because I’m telling you to. Open one if you actually feel like it.” In that moment, I realised — this isn’t about the “need” to be on social media. It’s about the comfort of not being on it. He is comfortable staying off LinkedIn, and I need to be comfortable with that.Curating a digital self is not everyone’s cup of tea. Universities and employers must know that. When we deleted our Facebook accounts, we didn’t know that 11 years later, Australia would ban social media for children under 16, and New York would mandate prominent mental-health warning labels on social-media platforms. We were just choosing a different path. These little decisions made us what we are today. We found our way; my sons will too.The writer is a freelance journalist based in New Delhi